The Choice
by Bottlebrush
Summary: An incident from Remus Lupin's early life.


The Choice

An incident from Remus Lupin's early life.

Rating T

The very small boy was sitting on a wooden floor, playing with glass marbles. He arranged them in a line in order of size, then he re-arranged them in groups according to colour. He took some in his hand and rolled them across the floor, observing how far each one rolled. He set them spinning, one by one, with a flick of his thumb and forefinger, and counted to see how long they spun. Sometimes one would start spinning without his having touched it. When that happened he smiled.

His parents stood in the next room, watching him through a large clear window. With them was a younger woman whose name was Belinda Twiss and who was a senior Ministry official.

"His age does make things simpler," Madam Twiss was saying. "The regulations do not allow us to offer euthanasia to anyone over seven, unless the subject asks for it himself. But for children under that age, the decision rests with the parents."

The parents said nothing.

"Have you ever witnessed a transformation?" Madam Twiss enquired.

"No, of course not," the father said impatiently.

"They are terrible," Madam Twiss said gravely. "Every bone in the body breaks and re-sets itself, every joint dislocates. Skin, hair, teeth, all change, and every change causes great pain. You can spare him all that."

The parents looked at each other, but did not speak.

"Is he your only child?" asked Madam Twiss.

"No," said the mother, "we have another son. He's fourteen."

"Does he know what has happened to his brother?" Madam Twiss asked.

"Yes."

"And how is he taking it?"

The parents hesitated.

"Not well," the father admitted at last.

Madam Twiss nodded, as if that was the answer she had expected.

The boy, catching sight of the people standing in the window, smiled and waved to them.

"See how happy he is," Madam Twiss said. "Happy, and innocent. Walk away now, and that's how you'll remember him. He'll be like that forever, in your memory. You'll never have to hear him screaming in agony, or – one day perhaps – see his jaws dripping human blood."

"How – how would it be done?" the mother enquired hesitantly. "Would he suffer?"

"Not at all," said Madam Twiss. "There is a potion which can be mixed with milk, or fruit juice, or whatever he likes to drink. He won't know it's there. He will fall peacefully asleep, and never wake up. Are you ready to make your decision?" She indicated two tables, at opposite ends of the room. "You are to go separately to a table and write your decision on a piece of parchment which you will find there. 'Yes' means that you leave the child to be dealt with by us. 'No' means that you take him home and assume responsibility for him. I am sure you will be mindful of your duties to yourselves, to society, and to your other son. You may not confer. You must each make your individual choice, uninfluenced by the other. If your decisions are not in agreement, I have the deciding vote."

Without looking at each other, the parents went to the opposite sides of the room, wrote quickly and returned to hand their parchments to Madam Twiss. Her lips tightened and her voice, when she spoke, was cold.

"You have made your decision. I hope you will not regret it. You will possibly change your minds after the first transformation. If that happens you may bring him back. Our offer still holds, until his seventh birthday. After that, things become more …… complicated."

She handed them a sheaf of leaflets: rules, regulations, penalties.

In the other room, the father took the boy by the hand.

Not until they had left the building did the parents look at each other, love and gratitude in their eyes.

"I was so afraid you would believe that stuff about our duty to society," said the mother.

"I did believe it," said the father. "But he's ours, he's our magical child and I love him. I couldn't give up on him."

The very small boy walked between them, thinking about the interesting day he had had. Maybe he would get some marbles for Christmas. That would be nice.


End file.
